


Only Been Silent So Long

by DaughterofProspero



Category: Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: POV Third Person, Priest, Religious Content, Roman Catholicism, Time Skips, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5820868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofProspero/pseuds/DaughterofProspero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"By noting of the lady I have mark'd<br/>A thousand blushing apparitions<br/>To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames<br/>In angel whiteness beat away those blushes;<br/>And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,<br/>To burn the errors that these princes hold<br/>Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool;<br/>Trust not my reading nor my observations,<br/>Which with experimental seal doth warrant<br/>The tenor of my book; trust not my age,<br/>My reverence, calling, nor divinity,<br/>If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here<br/>Under some biting error."</p>
<p>Friar Francis has known Hero her entire life. A look at their relationship and why he comes to her much needed aid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Been Silent So Long

Another infant is blessed at Friar Francis’ hands. A dusting of fair hair tops her head and eyelids that cover shockingly blue irises. Uncalloused feet twitch beneath her white robe, pink face spanning a spectrum of emotions as she awakens.

In a moment, water from the baptismal font graces her head. A bead or two of rogue liquid runs down between her slender nose and round cheeks. She mewls in confusion and continues to squirm but does not break into a full cry.

Rocked gently by her father she calms and gives a gummy smile to the leader of her flock.

*

While a buzz of nervous/joyous energy radiates from the bride’s side, a sickening stillness emanates from the groom’s. Claudio looks as though he hasn’t slept at all – not surprising but for his furrowed brow, and clenched fists taught at his side. Friar Francis forces down the unease broiling in the pit of his stomach.

*

Every week she and her cousin – the more fidgety of the two – visit his chapel, some of the youngest of his flock. Always politely greeting him before Sunday mass, they find a seat together giggling over the coloured projections from the stained glass windows on their hands and faces before the service starts. Sometimes he can hear a wavering descant line above a hymn or two. Usually one of the last to leave, she’ll ask him a question about the sermon, eagerly working to understand his explanation. Then she’ll shake his hand, chirp a sincere “thank you” and run to catch up with her cousin.

*

The ceremony is derailed alarmingly quickly. A myriad of unsettling and vague remarks from the Count hint at some deeper...what? Anger? Tensions finally erupt when unsuccessful attempt from Benedick to lighten the mood is quickly shut down by an explosion of rage “ _There, Leonato, take her back again_ ” the raving Florentine all but spits and shoves his bride-to-be viciously to the ground. She makes no sound, her mouth open in shock staring up at the man who loved her yesterday. Her cousin, uncle, and father rush to her side – but Claudio’s party (save for a very perplexed Benedick) are unmoving.

Claudio and – more damningly – both Princes have become judge, jury, and executioner in their relentless shaming of Hero. The church is a madhouse of confusion and rage, accusations flung with reckless abandon: “Whore, _wanton_ , _common stale_ ”.

Friar Francis cannot believe what he is hearing but as he looks over to Hero’s father, he fears that Leonato can.

*

“Bless me father for I have sinned; it’s been one week since my last confession.” Hero’s little voice barely fills the shadowed confessional. Only the top of her head is visible from Friar Francis’ side; still and pensive.

“I have…three things to confess. Well, maybe three and a half – is that allowed?”

“Yes – go on, my child,” The screen (and height) prevents the smaller occupant from seeing the Friar’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he answers.

She always chooses her words carefully, making absolutely sure her account of the week’s transgressions are as unbiased as possible – otherwise, “abs-o-looshun won’t mean anything, will it?” Once she’s positive she’s gotten everything correct, and sorted out what she needs clarified (this week she wants to know “if I say sorry for something, but I still feel badly after, does it count? What if they say they forgive me but I don’t believe them?”) she accepts what she must do for penance with as much solemnity as she can muster.

“Go in peace”

“Thank you father – you too!” Any lingering chance of anonymity is erased with her signature farewell.

*

Hero has fallen.

Beatrice calls for help, but Claudio’s company has turned their back and left, the high arches still ringing with their cruel indictments.

*

Leonato’s sitting room is impressive to say the least – luxurious in it’s tasteful use of open sightlines and a gorgeous vista from the westward window. For now, Friar Francis is just glad that it’s comfortable. After a long day, there are worse things than ending up surrounded by a pile of plushy cushions. He shivers a little, still chilled by the sudden summer storm that struck just as he was coming up Leonato’s front walk.  Hospitable as ever, Leonato offered Friar Francis refuge until the storm passed – keeping his guest dry and fed as they discussed their business.

Towards the end of the meeting, movement in the doorway catches the Friar’s attention. Peeking from behind the doorframe is Hero, waiting for an opportune moment to enter. Leonato, following the Friar’s line of sight, chuckles and welcomes his daughter in. Awkwardly, she approaches the two men with her hands held conspicuously behind her back until she reaches the table they are sitting at. Wordlessly, she reveals a cup of steaming tea and places it in front of the Friar, then hurries out to leave them to their discussion. A minute later, Hero reappears with a small spoon – forgotten in her earlier haste, places it next to the teacup, and runs out again.

*

She lives, but only in body. Any spirit left has been torn away by Leonato. She is nothing more than a phantom limb, cut off by her father. Heart in as many pieces as her family, alone save for her cousin – who for once is speechless – enough is enough. Flashes of encounters fill his spinning head: A small soprano, a confession and a half, a cup of tea with far too much sugar in it.

Sure as he knows his vows, sure as he knows the sun will rise tomorrow, he knows she needs to be helped, not saved. Calmly as he can, Friar Francis comes to Hero’s defence.

“ _Hear me a little…_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, full disclosure: I'm not Catholic. I did a bunch of research and I know in the play they call him Friar, and Friar's can't take confession unless they're ordained but they also call him father and you can only officiate a wedding if you've been ordained but this also was written centuries ago so...I'm sorry for any inaccuracies. Let me know if there are glaring ones I should be aware of.  
> The Deus ex Machina that is Friar Francis: Always thought it would be cool to explore why he so adamantly defends Hero (apart from the fact that she's clearly a literal living saint)  
> And the image of shy hero running in and depositing a cup of kinda crappily made tea was cute. So in it went!  
> As usual: Words in quotes and italics are direct lines from the play.
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)


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